


Two ships crossing in the night

by actmademoiselle



Category: Good Girls (TV)
Genre: Angst, Beth has really good self-control, Beth is a BAMF, Dreams, F/M, Gen, Other, Two times Beth dreamt of Rio and one time it outdid her wildest imagination, their relationship is kinda twisted and kinda amazing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-19
Updated: 2018-09-19
Packaged: 2019-07-14 09:45:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16037930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/actmademoiselle/pseuds/actmademoiselle
Summary: The children are sleeping upstairs. There is a knock at the door. On the other side of that kitchen door is him. Head tilted, a smirk on his lips, her pearl necklace hanging from his right hand.You seem to have lost somethin’, he says.- - - - -His cheekbones looked good in this light.She finishes her drink. She’s not supposed to –Ah, who cares. She closes her eyes and imagines. What if he moved so close to her he could kiss her. What if he kissed her. What if he put his hand in her hair and brought her closer, and kissed her. What if she held onto his shirt and kissed him back. What if his other hand moved – somewhere else. Somewhere like –Ah- - - - -What are you doing with someone like me?As he says it his eyes are inquisitive and she feels laid bare. The smirk looks like he already has an idea of the thoughts she had locked at the end of her mind to be opened only on dark nights. He laughs and looks at her as if he has not only found those thoughts, but borrowed and read them.





	Two ships crossing in the night

**Author's Note:**

> After finishing the series I just had to write something for these two and here you go. I am 100000000% sure Beth had some dirty dreams about Rio but I also wanted to show that their relationship is super strong and somewhat twisted. Let me know what you think.
> 
> The quotes in italics are from the show, the rest is, obviously, made up.

It started like this.

There is a moment, at the birthday party, when Dean has not entered the house yet to follow Beth into the room with Rio. There is a moment they are the only ones there.

There is a moment before Rio speaks and before he finds out she let his boy go. There is a moment they are collaborators.

There is a moment when he laughs at the picture of her husband and she silently laughs with him. A moment after, when he looks at her.

An opening.

It reminds her of the night from the few days ago when she was in her kitchen. The children were sleeping upstairs. There was a knock at the door.

On the other side of that kitchen door was him. Head tilted, a smirk on his lips, her pearl necklace hanging from his right hand.

> You seem to have lost somethin’, he says.

She braces herself, and answers.

> You didn’t have to bring it all the way back.

He looks her up and down in that way that brings shivers to her spine and she feels that this idea of hers just might work. It just might work. All that adrenaline this Canadian trip gave her and that possibility that the warehouse promised pushed her to think that maybe – maybe – she could do this again. Maybe – maybe – he’ll let them. Maybe she really wanted him to. Maybe she could play at this game and make her money herself instead of depending on Dean, Dean, treacherous, unreliable Dean.

> Call me curious, Rio finally interrupts the silence. Ladies usually wait for me to gift them some jewellery, rather than give me theirs.
> 
> Well, Beth tries to make sure her voice doesn’t break down, what if I’ve got an idea that can end up in both of us buying way more and better necklaces.
> 
> Ain’t a conversation to have outside, Rio says smiling openly, like he just won some competition they weren’t having.

He walks into her kitchen like it belongs to him, because in a way, it does. She can’t look at the tiles without thinking of how he examined them, cannot forget a gun to her head. She has the money he gave her hidden in her kids’ cereal.

He walks past her to the kitchen island and doesn’t return her pearls.

She goes to make sure the children are sleeping and gets some of the good alcohol on the way back. Ain’t a conversation to have sober.

He approves. She can tell from the way he looks at her; it just sort of happened that she can tell now where the line is, how much she can push and challenge him with him just accepting it. They’ve met less than 10 times but she’d already been about to be executed and he took the order back so there is some sort of bond now, if she can call it that.

He mockingly raises his glass to her.

> So, he prompts her.

His focus is on her.

An opening.

He just shifted the power to her. He came to her house with no agenda. He’s drinking her alcohol. He’s listening. She can say whatever she wants. He opened himself up. Allowed her an entry.

She talks.

She talks, and she proposes, and he smirks as he finishes his drink and he says yes.

He leaves, and takes the pearls with him.

It’s midnight. It was almost midnight, and they were standing in her kitchen drinking while her children were sleeping upstairs. It was dark in the house and the only light was the one above them.

She convinced him.

His cheekbones looked good in this light.

She drinks up half of what she has left.

His cheekbones _did_ look good.

She finishes her drink. She’s not supposed to –

Ah, who cares. She’s still standing in the same spot. She imagines that Rio’s still standing in his. Still looking at her amused, lips half open, head tilted to the side. One hand on the worktop, always close to the necklace he put there. He’s drinking. She refills her glass and drinks with him.

A smudge on the island brings her out of her reverie. One of her kids had to dirty it during dinner; she redid the same blackberry pancakes she made for breakfast because she had no time for anything else. 

She’s standing on the side of the island now, halfway closer to where he was. What if he had moved too. What if he moved so close he could kiss her. What if he kissed her. What if he put his hand in her hair and brought her closer, and kissed her. What if she held onto his shirt and kissed him back. What if his other hand moved – somewhere else. Somewhere nicer. Somewhere like –

Ah

Now his hand is down there working on her and she is kissing Rio and he is kissing her and it’s almost midnight.

This kitchen already belongs to him in a way, so why wouldn’t she let him make a claim on it. Oh, why not. She starts working on his trousers and she can feel him smirk against her lips. She bites him in return and this surprises him. He takes up the challenge.

Beth’s hand is in his trousers now and she wavers, for a moment, for a second. But it’s midnight. It’s dark. It’s not really happening.

He lifts her up onto the worktop and she imagines, imagines, imagines. There is blackberries under her hands.

It’s midnight and she’s already in her bed, but her mind’s in the kitchen.

* * *

 

It started like this.

He was sitting in her car and she was asking him what to tell the FBI agent who disrupted her home peace. He was counting money. She was counting the years she’d get in prison.

> That ain’t special, he says.
> 
> _You ain’t special,_ she hears.

He is sitting in her car and the money bag is in his lap and he has almost left. He is leaning in the car seat in a way that would never let her look at that seat again without remembering him like this.He is amused at her and his eyes are half-closed. She feels like she is being seduced but she is the one trying to keep him from leaving, not the other way around.

> _What are you doing with someone like me?_

As he says it his eyes are inquisitive and she feels laid bare. The smirk looks like he already has an idea of the thoughts she had locked at the end of her mind to be opened only on dark nights. It throws her off. People aren’t able to read her.

It throws her off and she forgets she needs to reply.

He laughs and looks at her as if he has not only found those thoughts, but borrowed and read them. But she’s not doing anything; she’d like to be doing things with him, but all she is doing is moving money. Rio has no right to look at her like this.

> _Tell him we were making love,_ he says, and this throws her off even for longer. Taking that angle actually makes sense.
> 
> _Make me sound good, yea_? He laughs as he leaves her car.

In her mind, it happens like this.

In her mind, he doesn’t leave for long. The car door opens again and he jumps back into this position that makes her nerves fire. He looks at her through his half-closed eyelids and asks the question.

> How good are you at lying?

As this is her imagination, she doesn’t have to think of the consequences. She doesn’t have to think.

> Not very good, she breathes. I can hide things that happened. I can’t invent what hadn’t happened.

In her mind, they’re both very concerned about making sure that the FBI don’t get on their track. He leans in. She leans in. It starts like this.

Her hand is on his cheek and he has a slight stubble that she rakes her fingers through. He puts his hand on the back of her head to push her closer.

She’s sitting in her car with closed eyes and imagines it happening.

* * *

 

It starts like this.

They are in her living room on the day she managed to get Rio arrested. The gold gun is in her hands and she is pointing at him, she is pointing at him and there are tears in her eyes. She has really thought Rio would kill them. She had betrayed him; he had broken into her house; he had beaten Dean into a miserable state; and he is sitting there, confidently.

> _You wanna be the king, you gotta kill the king._

She is aiming right between his eyes because that is a clear target to concentrate on. If the bullet went into his brain he would die instantly, right? She thinks that is a certainty.

Rio isn’t smiling any longer. It’s not a smirk either. He’s serious. She hates that.

She hates him.

He ruined her life. If her and her friends just stopped at that one-time grocery store stick-up she could be back at taking care of her kids, probably working a normal job and chatting with the school club about how hard life is. If he hadn’t sent them to Canada. She would still have money if he hadn’t stolen from her. If he hadn’t told her to _leave_.

It’s like he didn’t know she couldn’t leave now. She was in, she was _hooked_ now. Rio looks at her and she hates him. He leans forward. She hates him even more.

She has never fired a gun before. It’s an enormous feeling of power to be holding one.

A gun _he_ gave to _her_ to kill _him_. That’s not how his business works. Where are the bearded guys who take care of his problems?

This is personal.

The gun is shaking in her hand and he had to have noticed even though his eyes never left hers.

She can’t kill him. She wants to fire.

She moves the gun to point at Dean. The poor, miserable worm starts squirming the second she changes her stance like he really thought she’d risk a murder charge for him. After all he had done to her he deserves it. She likes the look of Dean like that, the blood and pulp-like state. For the first time he looks outside like he is on the inside.

Rio laughs. Oh, she hates him, but she can’t tear her eyes from Dean’s fear. The gun has an enormous power.

It happens like this.

> _This stuff’s medieval, darlin’._

She fires the gun. At the fucking cupboard Dean got for her, the pretty good housewife cupboard with pretty plates and fancy china. She fires, and she fires again, and she fires again and Rio laughs and laughs and laughs and laughs until she’s done and points the gun back at him.

> You’re out of bullets, darling, he says.
> 
> Then give me more, she says. We’re not done yet.

It happens like this.

Rio stands up. He takes measured steps around the table in between them as she follows him with the gun. He’s standing two steps away from her now. She’s pointing the gun, and as he takes a step forward it almost touches his forehead. He puts one of his hands on the top of the barrel and pulls; he puts another on the grip, across her hands, over her hands. His are warm and bloodied. Hers are cold and stiff. He changes the magazine in silence, one step away from her. He holds it by the barrel and hands back to her, and they are standing like that, the gun resting on his forehead and the empty magazine on the table next to her. The challenge is in his eyes and the smirk is back. He is crazy. She is crazy.

> It’s taking you way longer than it should, Elisabeth, he says.

She doesn’t want to kill him.

> Seems like you wouldn’t make a good king, he says and disarms her.

It happens like this.

She lets him. She straightens.

> Basic bitches have standards too, huh? He asks as he points the gun at her. They have been here before.
> 
> First time I haven’t stolen from you, she says and he chuckles.
> 
> You stick me up? he asks.
> 
> Seemed like the only way to get your attention, she says. And I needed the money after you cut me out.

Rio laughs. He licks the blood from his busted lip. She’d like to do that too.

He switches on the safety. She licks her lips. He looks.

It happens like this.

Rio kisses her, and she kisses back. He pushes into the kiss and she pushes too. She can’t leave, she is hooked. This is personal, darling, honey, Elisabeth.

> Elisabeth, he says.

He has never called her Beth. It sounds different than when other people said it.

It happens like this – he puts his hands where he should have put them earlier, where the FBI agent thinks he had already put them and she isn’t shy either. They stumble up the stairs or on the stairs or who remembers. They’re crazy together.


End file.
